My Brittle Winter
by PLLHalebSpoby
Summary: First in a series of two-shot stories exploring the origins of Spencer and Toby's relationship from the beginning. The accused murderer, the girl who dubbed him a devil. Seeing a side of him she had never expected to see. It was an awakening, it was a realization. It was the first seed.
1. Chapter 1

**My Brittle Winter. **

_Gone like the winter._

_Gone like my lover._

_Gone is the aching. _

_Gone forever._

Spencer had jogged off and on her entire life. It never helped her more than when she was in a deep crisis, or when the stresses of life just proved to be too much.

Especially lately.

The house of Hastings had become world war three waiting to explode at anytime.

Moving her legs, feeling the beat of the music pumping through her ears, it soothed her, calmed her more than staring at fractions could accomplish.

Rounding the corner in Town Square, she was instantly drawn to a mini-spectacle. Toby Cavanaugh, the accused murder of her best friend, the one that she had dubbed a devil, was walking.

Last she knew, he had been released with an electronic ankle monitoring device. It could only be turned off to attend meetings with his lawyer or a medical appointment.

Mystified, she slowed her pace as she watched him navigate his way through the cruel streets.

"Why don't you save us the cost of a trial and _drop dead_!" one cruel, misguided youth shouted out the window of his car.

For the most part, he ignored the jabs as he continued his walk.

When he approached two kids walking down the street, he stopped. A smile gracing his features as he looked down at them.

The kids didn't share his same enthusiasm, as they swiftly crossed to the other side of the road.

A pang of sympathy shot through her like a bullet as she watched him cross to the other side of the road, and duck into a side alley.

Curiosity striking her, she followed discreetly. When she peeked around the corner of the alley, she was stunned to see the face that she had associated with Alison's murder, cry.

His oceanic blue orbs, had crystalline liquid falling down them, as he gazed up at the heavens, begging for a reprieve of any kind.

As for Spencer, something had shifted inside of her.

She had been granted a different advantage point as she stared into his puppy-dog like eyes, and realized that there was something in him. Something that she hadn't been privy to before.

The first seed had been planted.


	2. Chapter 2

In his short life, eighteen years, Toby Cavanaugh had been subjected to the worst possible abuse possible. His father abandoning him after his mother passed, in favor of marrying into a shiny, brand new family.

And that new family, which included a stepsister, who sexually abused him, practically shoved him out the door, seeming to go along with what the rest of the town though, that he was an orphan, an outcast who bit the heads off squirrels.

And all but disowned after _he _was blamed for the fire that those girls started. The one that blinded his stepsister, Jenna, and forced _him _to take the blame and be shipped off to juvenile hall.

And now worse.

A murderer.

Someone capable of taking a human life in his hands, and destroying it.

Alison DiLaurentis was a horrible person, in his opinion, but he would never take her life, never take her away from her family and friends.

The court of public opinion had a different take on the matter. Hauled away in handcuffs and subjected to weeks of sitting in a cell, he had finally been released from jail when his father had made a special deal for him.

Now, though, his life was in shambles. The pieces, too strewn to be able to pick up and hold together.

Walking down the street on his way to his lawyers office, it was the only serenity he had. Cooped up in the house for hours after hours, would have an effect on a person.

Unfortunately, the peace that he sought for this short journey, had been rudely interrupted the second that he stepped into the harsh streets of Rosewood.

The residents, who still believed him capable of murdering Alison, gave him glares that could sink a ship. Some passed him death threats, some tried to trip him.

He ignored it for the most part.

"Why don't you save us the cost of a trail and _drop dead_!" One kid yelledo ut his window.

It stung to know what people thought of him. Especially when everything they _thought _they knew, couldn't be further from the truth.

When he spotted two kids walking in his direction as he, he stopped. Kids didn't pass judgment, kids trusted implicitly because that was the beauty of childhood. They didn't know fear, didn't know mistrust or the evils of this world.

But when they saw him, the ice cream cones they had been devouring, dropped from their mouths, as they grabbed each other's hands, and ran in the opposite direction.

The smile that he had shown them, disappeared from his face as quickly as it had come, as an overwhelming sadness and devastation crossed through him.

He was used to that kind of treatment from the adults of this town, but not little kids, who's minds had been conditioned by their parents to fear him.

Striding purposefully across the street, he was oblivious to the other person who was following him, the one who had unintentionally caused some of his worst nights.

His worst nightmares.

A side alley offered him the peace and sanctuary that he needed, from the cold and cruel world.

Sinking down to the ground, he wrapped his arms around himself, trying to keep his frayed emotions inside, bottled up.

His father, when his mother had died, had been emotionally unavailable to him. Teaching him that it was a weakness to cry.

But he couldn't stop the tears if he wanted to, as they slid down his face, sliding into his mouth, tasting saltwater.

His future was as uncertain as the day. The possibility of spending life in prison, becoming more and more of a reality.

The persecution of the town, too much to bear at times.

When he looked up toward the mouth of the alley, he saw a flash, a spark of something before it disappeared.

It had looked like a person, watching him.

Maybe he had imagined it.

Maybe someone out there cared.

The former was becoming more and more of a possibility.


End file.
